


there's a room where the light won't find you

by rollingforinitiative



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Monster of the Week, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollingforinitiative/pseuds/rollingforinitiative
Summary: “If you’re going to come with me, you need to snap out of it,” he said, and strode over to the stable where Roach waited patiently. “When you’re thinking about a woman, you’re not thinking about what’s about to kill you.”Jaskier leaned on the stable post as Geralt saddled his horse. “You don’t have to be so black and white all the time, Geralt. Isn’t there room in a man’s heart for both love and vampire-slaying?”Geralt grunted. “Not in my experience.” He climbed up onto Roach’s back and set off for the road to the chapel, making Jaskier run for a moment to catch up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will have somewhat erratic lengths as I wrote them as sections, not chapters, but it felt a little long for one chapter. Hope you enjoy some good old monster fighting! (Also some good old Jaskier whump.)

“I’m sorry, but the beast ravaging the countryside is a _pickle?_ ”

Geralt sighed heavily, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. “Garkain. It’s a type of vampire.” 

“Yeesh. A bloodsucker. What it must feel like to go, teeth at your neck and exsanguination at your doorstep.”

“You’d be lucky if all the garkain took was your blood. They prefer the flesh of their victims.” Indeed, the Witcher had gotten news in Ban Gleán of a monster lurking among the tombstones in a graveyard a few days north. So far, it had devoured multiple unlucky villagers as they visited their dead. The mayor of Laanselin had offered three hundred crowns to anyone able to rid his town of the creatures. Always in need of coin, Geralt set out to fulfill the contract.

However, a certain bard had decided that he’d had enough of the river city’s bitter ale, and that he’d like to tag along. Jaskier had become something of a constant for the past few months, and despite his epic tales of creatures of darkness, he still knew very little about the monsters themselves. This is why the road north was becoming a very long and irritating lesson.

“I like my flesh just where it is, thank you very much.” Jaskier straightened the green doublet he was wearing, either in nerves or pride. Geralt didn’t much care. All he wanted was the soft sounds and monotony of Roach’s even gait. 

“The town graveyard is a short walk outside the village. You’ll be fine if you stay within Laanselin.” So far, the garkain hadn’t left the confines of the graveyard, but if it ran out of dug-up corpses to feast on or became attached to its fresher victims, it could move and completely devastate the nearby town. This was a time-sensitive issue, and Jaskier’s constant chattering did nothing to make the journey any faster.

Jaskier huffed. “What, and miss out on the gory, exhilarating details? No, sir.” He swung his lute around to his front and strummed a chord. “I will be watching from a safe but clear distance away. You do the swinging, and I’ll do the singing.” He picked a few notes, then began to play a simple melody. 

_“The Witcher sought the garkain for its gruesome murders foul, but he only found a gherkin that wreaked havoc on his bowels!”_

Even Geralt had to smile, imperceptibly, at that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First multi-chapter fic. I have most of this written so it will most likely be completed. Hopefully.


	2. Chapter 2

They reached Laanselin as evening was falling. “Thank the heavens,” Jaskier said, throwing his hands dramatically into the air. “The sweet embrace of civilization. Warm beds, beautiful women, and food that wasn’t cooked over a campfire just after being pulled from the brush.” He swiveled to Geralt, who was scanning for a stable. “This, my good man, is where I find the nearest tavern and ensure your good reputation with its patrons.” He waggled his lute. “Feel free to thank me for my services.” For a second or two, he looked to Geralt expectantly. Roach snorted, and Geralt’s face was stony as ever. “Right, then.” Jaskier spun on his heel and began to walk jauntily off into town.

Geralt shook his head. The man was often frustrating and moreso a fool, but he had an enthusiasm about him the Witcher had never seen before. Even the most skilled fighter was useless if he never had a reason to pick up a sword. Jaskier, in small doses, could be bearable and, dare he think it, useful. He didn’t need his ego inflated any more, though. It was already as puffed as the shoulders on his ridiculous jackets. 

Finding a stable for Roach wasn’t difficult, and he was quickly pointed to the mayor’s home. The mayor himself was a sturdy-looking man, but the effects of the garkain’s presence was evident in the dark bags under his eyes and the gray beginning to streak through his black hair.

Geralt introduced himself, then quickly got to the point. “I hear you have a garkain troubling the town. How long has it been in the graveyard?”

“Two and a half weeks,” the mayor answered. He offered Geralt a chair, but a slight shake of the head brought him back to the subject. “Our chapel is outside Laanselin, in the cornflower fields. It, and the attached graveyard, have been in use for many generations.” He looked to the side, obviously uncomfortable and unable to meet Geralt’s unfeeling gaze. “One morning, we… we found the remains of a man who had been leaving flowers at his brother’s grave. We thought it could be a wild animal attack, but the ferocity was beyond anything we’ve seen.”

That sounded right for a garkain, moving in where corpses were readily available, and going after live prey when it could. “And the body had been eaten?”

“Yes. Nearly everything.” The mayor put a hand to his forehead, gripping it in frustration. “Soon after, a local family went to the chapel to worship. They visited the graveyard in the evening, and… only their boy returned, covered in blood and bitten badly. He died the next day.” 

Geralt nodded. “Hm,” he hummed, acknowledging the man’s pain. He was not here to comfort the mourning, but in the past few months, he had come to understand that he was less well received in a town where he completely ignored the population’s losses. Another thing Jaskier had been good for.

“I can kill the garkain. Allow me a night to rest, and it will be done by tomorrow night. You were offering three hundred crowns?”

The mayor nodded and pulled a pouch from his belt. “One hundred up front, the rest when it’s dead and Laanselin is safe.” As Geralt took the pouch and turned to leave, he added, “Thank you, Witcher. Good luck.” Geralt simply continued out into the cool night air. That matter was taken care of. Now, to find where Jaskier had run off to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There I go again, just delivering exposition.
> 
> Don't worry, it picks up : )


	3. Chapter 3

Soon enough, Geralt approached a tavern where a sign reading “The Blue Blossom” hung above the door. He could hear a familiar voice and lute as music flowed from inside. He took a breath to prepare himself and stepped in. 

Almost immediately, he saw Jaskier sitting on a bar stool, singing loudly to the patrons in attendance, accompanied by his own instrument and and a red-haired woman behind the bar who had a carved wooden flute. Once Jaskier saw the newcomer, he shouted, “And here’s the man of honor himself!” The crowd of townsfolk cheered, many lifting their mugs in Geralt’s direction. A chant went up, a melody he’d heard much more than he wanted to before. 

As Jaskier and the rest sang of a fictional battle and the tossing of coins, Geralt turned to the woman at the bar. She’d put down her flute and was now pulling a mug of ale. “Two rooms for the night.” He put the money on the bar and slid it forward. 

The woman came up to him and placed the frothy ale in front of him before pocketing the coin. “First one’s one the house,” she said, smiling with a wink. Geralt gave her a nod and took his drink to the back of the room to finally have a seat and rest.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier slid into the chair opposite him with a slanted grin on his face and leaned his lute against the table. “Now that’s what I call a warm welcome,” he said, pulling his doublet at the neck where it had become mussed up. “No more getting tossed out on your bottom first thing. Much better, right?” Geralt replied by taking a gulp of his drink. It wasn’t particularly good, but he’d had a lot worse across the Continent.

Jaskier leaned forward over the table, looking at Geralt secretively. “Have you seen the woman over there?” He gestured toward the woman who had been playing the flute when he first came in. Now she was handing out mugs and laughing with someone sitting up front. “Her name is Miriam. She plays the flute like an angel and has the face to match.” He leaned his cheek on his palm and stared dreamily. “Have you ever seen a creature so utterly stunning in all your life?”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “You said the same about the Duchess of Ellander a month ago.”

Jaskier frowned, turning back. “I did not.”

A shrug. “In as many words.” 

“But not the same ones. As a bard, you have to know which to use when, and these are the ones I’m using now.” Again, he looked behind him as Miriam slipped from behind the bar and walked between the tables. “Anyways, the Duchess said that her current condition prevented her from traveling the world with me, and I’m afraid we had to part ways.”

“By her ‘current condition,’ do you mean the fact that she’s married to the Duke?”

Jaskier leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its back two legs. “To-may-to, to-mah-to. A bard’s life is simply cursed with heartbreak, I suppose. So many people to meet, and so little time to meet them.” Then he looked over his shoulder, and, seeing Miriam just coming up to them, scrambled to assume a presumably more handsome position. His chair tipped a bit too far and it, along with its occupant, crashed to the floor.

Geralt watched her smile turn to a mix of worry and laughter. “Jaskier!” She bent down and offered a hand, which he took sheepishly. “I was worried for a moment there. I thought you were still wearing that lute. You know I’d be crushed if anything happened to it.” Her tone was sarcastic and lighthearted, betraying her words.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he responded, resetting his chair and leaning with one hand on its back. “It’s a good thing these chairs are harder than anything you were playing earlier.”

“You rotter!” She pushed him in the shoulder, and Jaskier leaned into it. They eyed each other playfully. Geralt was no master of emotion, but the energy emanating off the two of them was palpable. Given his past experience with Jaskier’s interaction with women, whatever came next was not something he cared to watch.

He downed the rest of his ale and stood up. “I’m going to my room.”

Jaskier looked over, almost suddenly realizing he was there. “Ah! Where are my manners? Miriam, this is the famed Geralt of Rivia,” he said, gesturing. “Geralt, this is Miriam. Of, erm, Laanselin. Obviously.”

Miriam folded her arms and looked Geralt up and down. “The White Wolf, in person? I’m impressed.” She pressed her lips together, thinking and looking at the thick pads of armor and sharpened weapons he wore. “If you’re as good as the songs say you are, then the thing by the chapel should be no problem for you.” She cocked her head toward Jaskier. “Keep this one out of there, though.” Biting her lip, she glanced coolly over to where he immediately met her eyes. “His face is all right now, and I wouldn’t like it damaged.” Jaskier tipped his head slightly down, shooting a seductive look right back.

Without another word, Geralt left to find his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Jaskier. Like Joey Batey said, he can't help but fall in love with everyone he meets. What a good-hearted fella.


	4. Chapter 4

It hadn’t been an hour before Jaskier came bursting into his room and splayed himself out on the bed. “Geralt, I’m in love.”

Geralt was standing in the middle of the room, just finishing removing his armor for the night. He paused for a second, then continued the same as before.

“I’m serious,” Jaskier said, turning to lay on his side with his head on one hand. “Miriam is truly and completely perfect. She’s beautiful, she’s humorous, she plays the flute like a musical goddess; she’s like…” He waved his free hand around, trying to think of the word. “She’s like… a stew if you put in everything you liked and nothing you didn’t.”

Geralt crossed his arms. “That was terrible.”

“Yes, I know, but true poetry takes time. It’s not all a masterpiece the first time it comes out.”

“So, why aren’t you…” Geralt gestured toward the door. There must have been a reason Jaskier was lying on the bed he’d paid to sleep in and not anywhere else at all, doing what Geralt figured he would be doing right now.

“Ah, it’s the classic story of obstructed love. He loves her, she loves him…” Jaskier frowned. “Her father would murder me with an axe if he found her in my bed.” Popping up off the bed, he danced a couple of steps and righted himself gracefully. “Thankfully, her father won’t be in tomorrow night, and with the gherkin dead and money in our pockets-”

“Garkain,” Geralt corrected automatically.

“In any case, all will be well in the world, and Miriam and I will be free to enjoy the most satisfying of life’s pleasures. What sweet music we’ll make, in every possible-”

“Out.” 

“Right. Yes.” Jaskier hopped for the door. “Make sure to get fully rested up and your witcher fighting spirit recharged, because a lot is riding on our performance tomorrow, and-”

“OUT.”

The click of the door closing was the last thing Geralt heard before he was finally able to lay in his bed, close his eyes, and sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning, much to Jaskier’s disappointment, was not spent immediately chopping the heads off of vampires. He followed Geralt to the blacksmith’s shop and spent at least an hour watching clouds drift across the sky as the witcher sharpened his silver sword to a lethal edge. Then he followed Geralt to the herbalist’s shop, where he picked at dried leaves and seeds piled in glass jars for what seemed like an eternity.

“What are we here for again?” he asked as he turned and ran face-first into a bunch of roots hanging from a low beam. He sputtered and brushed it away, looking distressed. “Surely your sword will be plenty effective against a monster without also seasoning it like a roast chicken.”

Geralt turned from a rack of tiny bottled where he’d been perusing their labels, one by one. “Swords are more effective with the right oils applied. I’m looking for ingredients. You need to stop touching things.” Jaskier froze in the middle of picking up a dish filled with something that looked like mold someone had scraped from a particularly grimy wall. “Contact with certain substances will kill you, and I’ll have to pay for the used goods.”

Jaskier doubted the greenish fuzz would do anything to him from a light touch, but he didn’t understand most of the materials that lined the walls and filled the tables, so he slowly set the dish back where it had been. It could be harmless mold taken from an old bread crust, but from what he knew, it could very well be a rare and highly toxic fungus that did unspeakable things to those unlucky enough to brush past it.

“Are there certain substances that kill you from the odor?” he asked, now wary of dangling plants. “Because this shop smells like a compost heap distilled into a perfume that the furniture soaked in for at least a week, if not longer.”

“You’re welcome to wait outside.” 

Jaskier weighed the options. “A, I remain in this malodorous death trap and later write a beautiful song about the specifics of oil preparation. B, I return to the tavern, perform with its enchanting barmaid, and skip that verse altogether.” A pause. “A no-brainer, really. Geralt, come by when you’re ready to do something interesting. Preferably more monster-chopping, less plant shopping.” With that, he hurried to the door and left with an unnecessary but very Jaskier-esque wave.

Geralt sighed. In fact, there was very little in this shop that would do much damage unless directly ingested or inhaled. If there was, he probably would have forbidden Jaskier from following him in. Then again, that would inevitably attract the bard to the shop more, and very little on the Continent could come between him and something he thought he could spin a tale from. This could make him a very brave man, but there was a fine line between bravery and daftness, one to which Jaskier paid absolutely no attention.

Was it cleverness or stupidity to follow the man most capable of defending you if it meant following him into the most dangerous situations? Geralt didn’t know, and resolved not to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but there's prep work that goes into witchering, and Jaskier would be bored to death with it, which I find hilarious.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, guys. I'm a little stuck a couple chapters from here and I hate to have everything that's done posted. Hopefully it'll all be up soon!

It was early afternoon when Geralt entered the tavern to fetch Jaskier. He had considered leaving him behind, but he’d never hear the end of it if the bard didn’t find out exactly how gruesomely to describe the garkain, so he pushed into the bar.

Jaskier was, predictably, lounging on a barstool while Miriam worked the counter. He was plucking notes out on his lute, singing something about a woman wreathed in flames who played music that also turned into fire. Geralt didn’t quite get the metaphor, but the barmaid was throwing him flirtatious looks over her shoulder, so it was presumably working. 

“Jaskier!” he called gruffly over the low murmur of the afternoon’s patronage. He jerked his head, telling him to stop crooning and get a move on. Jaskier looked over and smiled, hopping off the stool. Miriam approached him and slid a coin across the bar. Jaskier took her hand, giving it a light kiss on the knuckles and pocketing the coin before joining Geralt at the entrance. He had a somewhat dazed expression on his face, and the witcher rolled his eyes. 

“If you’re going to come with me, you need to snap out of it,” he said, and strode over to the stable where Roach waited patiently. “When you’re thinking about a woman, you’re not thinking about what’s about to kill you.”

Jaskier leaned on the stable post as Geralt saddled his horse. “You don’t have to be so black and white all the time, Geralt. Isn’t there room in a man’s heart for both love and vampire-slaying?”  
Geralt grunted. “Not in my experience.” He climbed up onto Roach’s back and set off for the road to the chapel, making Jaskier run for a moment to catch up.


	7. Chapter 7

The chapel was only a ten-minute walk away from Laanselin, at the end of a path through a field of cornflowers. They fluttered in the light breeze, causing waves of shifting blue for acres.

“How ironic,” Jaskier commented, “that such evil creatures would take up residence in such a beautiful place. It’s no wonder they built their chapel out here.” He softly strummed his lute, and to Geralt’s mild surprise, didn’t sing a word, but played a quiet tune. It was different from his typical, upbeat crowd-pleasers or passionate love songs. The sound almost rose and fell with the field’s rippling blue as if breathing with the wind. It wouldn’t have been out of place as a child’s lullaby. 

Geralt found himself not grimacing at the grating repetition of Jaskier’s usual repertoire. In fact, he may have been enjoying it until the chapel came into view. A two-story with a short spire, it was surrounded on the sides and back by a large graveyard encircled by an iron fence. In the soft light of the day, it didn’t look at all like the lair of a vicious monster. Only the scent of blood and decay divulged the presence of the place’s heinous occupant.

He looped Roach’s reins around a post of the fence, tight enough to make her understand that she needed to stay there, but loose enough for her to be able to escape if the garkain attacked and went after her. It was unlikely, as they preferred human flesh, but he didn’t want to take the risk.

Jaskier, on the other hand, wasn't as easily commanded. “It’s safer outside,” he warned, pulling out his silver sword. “Garkains prefer the dark.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Jaskier replied. “Look at the place. Light’s going to filter in everywhere. I’ll be fine, so long as you go first and deal with everything before it gets to me.” Indeed, the chapel looked like it had seen many decades, and it was run-down in some places. Roof tiles had been blown off, with not all of them hastily patched; not enough to make the building unsafe or unusable, but the holes left there, along with a central window, would allow some sunlight in. “Additionally, this particular graveyard smells more like death than most, so I’d rather not have my senses assaulted all afternoon.”

Geralt stared past Jaskier for a moment. There was no arguing with this man. “Fine,” he said, looking back into the bard’s pleading face. If he was going to tag along, he might as well have some means of defense. Geralt pulled a small silver dagger from his belt and handed it over. “Hold on to this. If anything happens, run. If you can’t run, hit them with the sharp end.”

Jaskier took the dagger, twirling it in his fingers. “I know how a blade works, Geralt,” he said, and shook his head derisively. “I’ve traveled the Continent long enough to know a thing or two about self-defense.” Then he promptly fumbled and dropped the dagger into the dirt.

It was a wonder he hadn’t been killed yet. “And be quiet.” With that, Geralt headed into the chapel.

The interior of the building looked like it had been once very fine and decorated, but it showed signs of the weathering of time. Some paintings hung on the walls, discolored with ancient frames. A dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling, but the candles were all stubs in need of replacement. A handful of pews faced the altar, though a few were askew. Wooden, they were carved nicely, but they were covered in marks and scratches, many of which most likely came from generations of errant children and drunken penitents. There were a few scratches, however, that dug deep and long in the wood. These were not of human origin.

Cautiously, the two men walked between the pews, scanning the corners and dark rafters for creatures of the night. After they had searched the main chapel area and a couple of adjoining closets, Geralt gestured toward a simple archway in the back of the room. Behind it was a spiraling staircase upward. 

“I don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified,” Jaskier whispered, breaking the silence. “Bad things always hide under staircases.”

Geralt hushed him. They approached the archway, Jaskier staying a short distance behind him, and Geralt held his sword up defensively. He paused, waiting for a loaded moment, then leaped swiftly and quietly into the stairwell, pointed toward the space beneath the winding steps. Jaskier held his breath and tensed, ready to flee if his protector was immediately devoured, but Geralt looked back and shook his head. _Nothing there_. He pointed upward, and Jaskier let out a tiny whine as he looked up the dark passageway.

They crept up the staircase, hesitant to alert anything waiting for them above, and they were met with a closed door. Geralt placed his palm flat on it and pushed lightly, and the door creaked open on rusted hinges. Jaskier winced at the piercing sound, stark against the silence of the empty chapel. He put his finger to his lips and leaned forward, shushing the door angrily. Geralt glared back at him, then entered the second floor.

Disappointingly, the garkain was nowhere to be seen. The attic itself was dimly lit by a number of holes in the roof, and though many were patched with thin wooden slats, they were themselves rotting, and he could see the clouding sky through some of them. The floor showed obvious signs of water damage, and crates stacked against the walls were dusty and covered in cobwebs. It didn’t look like anyone or anything had been up here in years.

He took some hesitant steps into the room, but it was apparent that nothing was lurking in the shadows. He even left light footprints in the dust on the floor as he circled the room for a quick check behind the crates. Nothing of interest here.

The quiet was broken by Jaskier whispering, “So, is it not up here?”

Geralt tensed at the sound, but looked over in annoyance at Jaskier, who was standing in the doorway and slightly crouching while pointing the dagger and looking suspiciously around the room in a crude imitation of Geralt’s own fighting stance.

“No,” Geralt responded with a sigh. “No, it’s not up here. I assumed it would hide in the building, but it’s possible it found enough cover in the graveyard to hide during the day.”

“Of course,” Jaskier huffed, straightening to look at Geralt and now looking more like a petulant child than a fighter. “The one place creepier than a run-down chapel where a vampire would lurk. Delightful.”

“You could go back to town instead. Spend the afternoon with your new lover. Much safer than being out here.”

Jaskier squinted at him. “You do make a very good point.” The prospect of a solo hunt faltered, however, when he added, “On the other hand, she will still be available tonight, while the tale of your victory over this great evil will be reduced to a single drab sentence if I’m not there to witness it.” He shrugged. “I suppose Miriam will have to wait a bit longer, but she’ll enjoy the crowd my new story will bring to the tavern. A small sacrifice to make for my art.”

“...Hm.” This man was going to drive him insane one of these days.


End file.
